


Dear friend...

by VandaQ



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hannibal is Not a Cannibal, Multi, Romance, Sexuality Crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-14 22:28:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3427829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VandaQ/pseuds/VandaQ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a psychiatrist and FBI consultant, Hannibal crossed paths with a lot of people; some dull individuals with a crass lack of manners and others interesting spirits with sparkling intelligence and voluptuous charms. But never had he met someone to capture all of his attention. Until Will Graham, a Forensic teacher, is introduced to him. </p><p>Due to this meeting, the psychiatrist has to learn the precious lesson that Bedelia is always right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, beauties. ^^ 
> 
> So... This is my first Hannigram chaptered fanfic and what I must say is that I forgot how tiring is to work on chapters... T.T The idea is inspired by this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PdUiCJnRptk 
> 
> Of course, it is adapted to my other ideas. Also, here you have the music mix for, dunno, getting into the mood: http://8tracks.com/vandaq/dear-friend-hannibalxwill-fanmix
> 
> The story has five chapter and an epilogue so I wish you patience. I adore kudos and comments so don't be shy and also you can address me any question. <3 
> 
> Enjoy you reading.

 

_10th July_

 

 

The first rays of the summer sun caress his face in a slow waltz, creating sensual shadows upon his features and decorating his hair with burgundy reflections. His breath and the noise of the traffic are the only sounds that reside between the walls of his hotel room. He sighs, deeply, calming his raging mind and his stormig thoughts. It will be tough; he is sure of this. But he had to do what he did, right? The only solution to this complicated problem was only his disappearance. Will will understand, sooner or later. Have a family; have children; a happy life after all that he had been through. He will be... _Fine_. Something that Hannibal couldn't tell about himself; will _he_ be fine?

The cotinuous sounds of his breath and the noise of the cars was suddenly interrupted by a strange, muffled voice and some powerful knocks in the door. _No..._ , Hannibal's mind could mutter before his limbs moved, on instinct, as if the voice could command him so easily to listen to its orders.

"Open the damn door!" The man pressed a hand against the hard surface of the wood, then leant closer, letting the coldness of it calm his nerves; he glued his forehead to it, but was soon removed when an angry bang made the door rattle softly. Gulping down the lost temper, he made a swift gesture and two clicks could be heard. Then the flushed, frowning face of the man appeared before him and Hannibal wondered if the empath got more beautiful in the time of their separation or simply he yearned so much to see the man again.

"Watch your language; this is a respectable hotel." His voice is calm and composed, matching the stare that his maroon eyes envelop the empath with. He could practically feel the angriness touching a peak in Will's body and moved to the side to allow the man step into the apartment.

"How about I tell to all these respectable people how not respectable are you?!" The voice is strident and unpleasant for Hannibal; he closes his eyes, sighs and shakes his head slightly. How many times did he tell Will to excercise composure even in the situations that do not require it?

"Will you enter or shall I close the door?" At the question the slightly tanned face of the brown haired man reaxed in a less aggressive expression, his lips mumbling in an upset fervor some profanities to the regard of the door and respectable neighbours.

"Now explain." This time the words aren't shouted nor have the same force; they are more of a masked pleading, annoyance still coating the letters as they escape with a tremble off their possessor lips. A tremble which Hannibal finds surprisingly pleasant. Something from Will's appearance shows the desperate inner self and no one is better at reading Will Graham than the psychiatrist.

"I have never understood your rushed attitude toward matters. Take a seat. May I serve you with anything?" Hannibal turned to move to the mini-bar that was arranged on top of the fireplace, but a firm hand clutched his arm; powerful and demanding. _Oh... He truly wants answers_ , the doctor hushed in his mind as he met the vibrating hues of the other. The ghost of a smile graces the doctor's lips as his eyes soften further, fill with untold desires and hurtful stories that had never escaped them, never had they been shared with anyone.

"Now I should let Bedelia how right was she. I have my assurance about her satisfied reaction..." His lips move on their own accord, as his hand dances through the air. His long fingers, in the end, rest against Will's cheek, gingerly, immensely delicate as if touching crystal or platinum or a glass made of the finest crystal decorated with platinum.

"What are you talking about?" The first reaction of the empath is to liberate Hannibal's arm and lean unconsciously into the other's touch, breath caught in his throat as he tries to avoid the pools of dark chocolate that stare into his very soul.

"Bedelia was right. This is all... I fell for you."

 

_10th March_

 

"She is Molly."

Hannibal stared with an unpenetrable, unreadable expression decking his features at the smiling woman. A hand was extended, but the doctor couldn't bring himself to return the gesture. In the end, his own polite self pushed his fingers out of his glove and, with a subtle grin dancing on his expression, he gently grabbed the woman's hand and brought it to his lips to press a chaste kiss upon the skin that wore no fragrance. _Tasteless_ , his senses cried, wanting to take his friend's hand and indulge himself a moment of pleasure, to let the acrid and warm aroma of pine wander through his trachea, down into his lungs where to drug his senses numb and send shivers down his back. But he refrained and, instead, directed a curious glance to the hands that entwined between the two figures that stood in front of him.

"We should enter the café," he proposed with a forced, natural looking smile as he held open the door for the two. He exchanged a short, intimate glance with the blue eyed man and he almost closed the door after Molly, blocking her in the space of the coffee shop.

"So... Dear Will, you have been rather secretuous with me about this beautiful woman," Hannibal spoke as he dragged the chair for the woman, a soft giggle escaping her lips and a blushing tending to her cheeks.

"Doctor... I do not tell you everything," was the reply of the empath, that hid venom as his eyes scrustinised the behaviour of his friend. Oh, did Will truly believed Hannibal had any interes whatsoever in his pathetic date? Hannibal truthfully wanted to laugh.

"Since when?"

"Hannibal, you should stop interferring in this poor boy's life. He is old enough to handle his own business, don't you think?" A refined voice made its appearance and Hannibal let a knowing smile adorn his lips, while licking his bottom one.

"Thank you, Bedelia. You already know Molly, right?" The blonde woman offered a close lipped smile as he accepted the doctor's gesture to help her with the chair.

"I am glad to see you again, Molly."

"Oh, so even my evil friend does know about your lady and I have no idea." Hannibal voice is thick with envy and annoyance and Bedelia senses it as he mutters an amused grin, partly covering it with a hand. "I feel that you feared I might steal Molly from you, Will. Otherwise I see no reason in keeping her out of my attention." The blonde woman takes the menu and avoids the talk, knowing better that the reason Will has not yet presented his girlfriend to the doctor is not his fear. The empath wants to reply, his eyes glued to the burdgundy crystals of the man across him; but an arm wraps around him and the over-cheerful voice of the brunette next to him is heard in the room.

"No offense, doctor, but stealin' me is impossible. I fear this dear man made me see no other apart from him." Hannibal chuckles; low and threatingly; as to warn the woman, not show a sign of acceptance; in fact, there is no acceptance in his eyes and Will can see it. Bedelia can see it as well. Only Molly smiles childishly, dreamily as he clings onto Will.

Tactless.

 

_07th December_

 

The lips of the doctor are coated in the sweet touch of the rose sparkling wine, ghosting along them with a sweet aroma and on his fine palate with a berry fragrance that persists even after running his tongue upon the soft skin of his bottom lip. The curve of a smile contours on his face as his eyes settle upon the moving frame of a woman and rest against the perfectly defined contours of her body that is suavely embraced by a dark teal dress; the blond tresses accompany in the most elegant and simple way the impression of beauty and composure combined in her appearance.

"Don't even dare, Hannibal Lecter. That charming grin of yours won't erase the fact that you missed our last appointment."

_The same Bedelia_ , the doctor thought about his beloved friend, Bedelia du Maurier, his confident, source of advice and devoted psychiatrist as well. Her smile was of good-nature, silently scolding the older man in a motherly way, keeping, in the same time, a calculated expression upon her features. At a first glance, the blonde appearared to be the personification of composure and collection; every gesture was analysed and dissected in her mind before to even become a command for her nerves; she possessed the most subtle and cynical humour and a disarming smile that could put at her feet any stubborn heart; she was dedicated, but not necessary loyal and Hannibal knew it better; the noble roots showed on her features in arrogant grins and domating glances. Hannibal found in her the perfect comrad, appreciating the beauty and the coldhearted naure, the power and the attention to details and valued her as his equal, which was hard to extract from an individual with such high standards as the doctor was.

"It's good to see you, Bedelia," the lips of the doctor muttered as the slim arm of the woman snaked around his neck and as she pressed a fugitive kiss upon his cheek, careful to not leave traces of lipstick on his unblemished visage. He took into the familiar fragrance of the woman, noting in his mind the name of the perfume.

"I must introduce you to someone..." Bedelia's body suddenly parted away from her friend's one, just in time for her voice to rise interest into the great mind of Hannibal's. The words were intriguing and hid mysterious meanings that wouldn't unveil their content easily, as the doctor could foresee. Before he could even mumble a comment about Bedelia's 'evil' plans, he was quick to notice how her fingers were firmly holding the arm of an unknown man. His maroon crystals slowly rose, delecting themselves with the elegant proportions of the other's body; his sight was full of glisten and hushed, silent interest, muted appreciation being directed to the blonde woman.

"This gentleman, my dear friend, is Hannibal Lecter. I have my assurances that you have heard of him until now." As the woman makes the presentation, Hannibal's gaze starts to decipher the lost, troubled and yet collected expression of the man; the blue eyes that seem shadowed by stormy clouds hide and play with his sight, in the moment when he almost caught the other's stare his crystals retiring under the cupole of their lids or running to their sides, swiftly and with ability. Hannibal concluded that the blue eyed stranger did not want quite yet to meet his soul and whole universe and, despite curiosity picking at the chords of his heart and pressing different buttons into his mind, he respected that. Politeness is coaxed into the stranger's expression through a smile that is directed toward Bedelia, who watches the still reserved interaction between the two with a darling smile of self-satifaction.

"A pleasure to meet you, mister..."

"Graham. William Graham." Hannibal almost sighs as his eyebrows mimick undivided interest toward the stranger. William's voice is thick, subtly raucous, deliciously coated in a sensual Southern accent that vibrates through the syllables; his vowels are prolongued and moving through his lips with paradoxal allure, given the cold and rather austere behaviour of the man; his consonants are rough, almost unpleasant if not for the gentle tremble of his voice while floating through the air, pouring in Hannibal's ears like a drug, numbing his senses and sending shivers down his back to patrol in silence and order.

"William...," he makes, extending a hand, a hand that has the unmoving stability of the hand of a surgeon. The blue eyed man darts a glance at his fingers and extends his own limb, to calmly reply to the psychiatrist's shake. Hannibal can see the desire of the man to say something, can read it in the soft lines of his expression; but he can't hear any word so he communictes through a smile his encouragement. The struggle of the other to avert his scrutinising, pinning gaze is real and Hannibal almost chuckles in delight at the discreet battle that is wore between them. In the end, with tanned fingers resting without power against his own palm, he closes subtly the space between them, voicing in a secretive tone his conclusions.

"Full empathy?" In the meantime, the sensitive Bedelia retired to watch the chasing game of his friends from a shadowed corner, while seemingly entertaining a conversation with the host of the charitable party.

"How did you know?" are the words that escort William's gaze to Hannibal's maroon, almost burgundy crystals. The psychiatrist does nothing to remove his fingers; he stays close, smiling in a satisfied way and trying to penetrate the hues of ice and silver. His own eyes are now softening with ginger sparkles in hues of red as he slowly, but steadily digs his way into the empath's mind.

"I have met, in the quality of psychiatrist, a lot of people, William." Again the impulse of speaking is leaving traces against William's face, but he does not pronounce yet his demands. He leaves firstly the prolongued physical contact with Hannibal and grounds himself.

"Will. Call me Will, please." The empath's voice is again rough against his ears, passing with a rattle through the windows of his mind palace, knocking feverishly at the locked doors of his mind and leaving in its disappearance a breeze that travells down the arch of his spine in a short, electrifying shiver.

"Will, then." The blue crystals are hidden again by their possessor and Hannibal almost order the man to look into his eyes. The fascination that the blue eyed man coaxes into him is almost unbelievable and almost surprising. The blue eyes move to inspect the vast room and, before the empath to find an escape from the doctor's proximity, Hannibal lets words adorn his lips, together with a chaste grin.

"I am not dangerous."

"Excuse me?"

"I am not dangerous, Will." Innocent curiosity and unhidden surprise pictures an inquiring, amused expression upon Will's sharp features, molding them in a fond display; all the lines of his face partake in a movement that shakes his chest as well and a chuckle is left to rest in the air between them. The stiff stance of the empath relaxes and the two glacial lakes melt into two pools of water. Hannibal feels warm and delighted at the exhibition of emotions Will indulges him to witness and he wonders how many other expressions the empath hides under that appearance of hostility and tiredness.

"Then we have radically different opinions, doctor. You are a predator," the empath states in a voice that still is clogged with amusement while drowning his impulsive, playful grin in the sparkling wine. Hannibal's crystals soften their shields further, allowing the empath to read him and take him in any way he would like. When he speaks again his voice is more of a breathy note that floats around them with secure promises of future meetings:

"Only in the case I find an interesting prey..."

 

_10th July_

 

There is a warm weight on his chest, spreading along his side and his right leg and as he opens his eyes, slowly, he discovers a muffled face into his naked chest. The breath of the other is calm and deep, and he registers the summer sun that is already losing its arms under the horizon line. A sigh is forced out of his lungs, long and showing satisfaction, emanating warmth and bliss and comfort. He rests his cheek upon the soft, curly strands of the man and smiles calmly, closing his eyes and reveling into the sensation of skin touching skin and the heat shared by them; finally, in his arms.

 


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eyes are deceiving; they are the source of the false hopes.

_14th December_

 

 

Hannibal's hand pushed the door with silence and immense care, attentive to not disturb the order of the clasroom. In the dark of the room, the glow of the screen is the only light and, as he distinguishes the features of the teacher, his crystals remain suspended upon the picture of a dead man. Forensic; this is what Will Graham teaches. He learns his devoted students how to catch murderers, individuals that are so low and desperate as to kill other human beings. Hannibal lets his mind wrap around all the concepts Will tries to imprint in the students' minds and decides that over a quarter from his patients could have killed the stranger whose body is large open on the screen, in all its nakedness and impurity.

"This is all for today," the solemn, disciplined voice of the teacher resonates in the room as the natural light starts to filtrate the shadows from all the corners that might still hide some of the most unchaste thoughts of the human race. Hannibal doesn't move; he is comfortably standing by the door, coat draped over his arm; he watches silently the short replies and refusals that escape the empath's lips and notices how the crevice from between his eyebrows deepens further in an aggressive, hostile frown. In the end, the students abandon their questioning, leaving the space of the room to be occupied only by their young teacher and the mysterious companion that had been visiting this place moderately lately. Will's crystals are now more of a light teal, waves of cold blue dancing, combining with vibrant hues of green in a nuance that is fade. Behind the rims of his glasses, there is again that apparent exhaustion, that consuming fervor that makes the man liberate a sigh from its silent nestle in his chest, only to return in the form of a deep inhale to his lungs.

"My suggestion is to accept my invitation to tea." Will's head snaps up, curls bouncing playfully and the two oceans being slightly overpowered by the black, glistening pupils. Hannibals finally approaches the empath, holding his gaze, a reassuring wave of sparkles that flood on his own crystals communicating to the man that there is no need to look so scared. The defensive stance of the empath is abandoned with an imperceptible sigh, that Hannibal perceives - though - very well, his first instinct being to cup his new friend's face into the inviting warmth of his fingers and murmur him lost words in lost languages, as to speak to his ancient, calloused soul. But he refrains any gestures that could put in guard the empath and allows him to retire his stare from the embrace of his own gaze and continue his activity of placing his papers in his bag.

"Maybe I will." The words are distant and somehow tired, slow, the voice that resonates against the walls weak and without vigor. Hannibal takes a step closer and investigates the dark circles from under the empath's fatigued eyes. Somewhere in his chest a silent pain envelopes all of his insides, pours venom into his very soul and bites ragingly the last resorts of his composure.

"Will..." His voice is close, so warm and calm and affectionate, the empath closes his eyes as if the letters would fondle and caress him. The imaginated strokes, however, are soon replaced by real ones as long fingers, elegant digits come to rest on the side of his neck. The doctor leans closer, places his coat upon the now empty desk and with a gentle, soothing move he titlts Will's head toward him, for him to be able to lose his gaze into the infinity of those blue oceans that seem drained at the right moment. Hannibal forgot clearly about Will's ability to avoid contact and convinces himself again of the other's strong and prideful character as the man avoids both his glare and touch, turning his back to him, with the pretext of grabbing his own coat.

"I am fine." The mutter doesn't quite replies to all Hannibal's questions and inquires; but he had crossed already the line once and he fears of breaking the soft balance of their friendship by pinning to a wall the empath with his natural curiosity and kind worry.

"I will believe you this time. But exercise attention and care in case you don't want me to find the reason of why you look always so worn out, exhausted and lifeless. You will need great effort to hide things from me, Will." The silence falls heavy and burdening around them and Hannibal expects the result of his words that is brought to him after a moment. The empath turns and, in a visibly displeased manner, he indulges a single glance in Hannibal's direction before to speak.

"I have nightmares." The short, airy retort of the brown haired marches along the hallways of the doctor's mind palace with steps that weight a tone.

"Hm? Nightmares? What kind of nightmares, if I am allowed to ask?" Will makes an annoyed sound and decides to sit in his chair, brushing both of his palms upon his face as a debut to his words that come as muffled.

"Nightmares about my lessons." The man removes the shield formed of fingers and leans back in his chair with a long, distressed sigh, his expression varying between a pleasant tint of docility, the worrifying mimick of fear and an annoyed grimmace that overpowers his forehead with deep lines and a scary frown. "Where I meet corpses and see myself as the criminal and... I am not able to fight with my empathy." After the last letters of Will's words disipated into the evening air, the doctor took in a breath of air and calmly, without any gesture to indicate lack of confidence, turned the empath's chair to him while he sat on the desk. His fingers intertwined in his lap as his cold, maroon eyes that resembled now two inanimated orbs stared at the empath in the mute silence.

"My hopes are that you are aware of my job; I am a psychiatrist. And I consider myself your friend and I desire for you to see me as one as well. Why didn't you tell me?" The voice that caresses Will's ears usually is now abrasive and when their crystals meet the seas of chocolate that usually invite him in their embrace are fiery; but he can sense it; Hannibal is hurt. The blue eyed man wants to clarify it; or, at least, to make Hannibal leave him alone; but he knows he can't escape. Hannibal wouldn't allow him take refuge into his comfortable mind and wouldn't even let him think of rejecting his help. Will knows that the determination and patience of this man are infinite; knows that his kindness is sweet and warm and gentle; but knows also that his respect is more important. Hannibal is the perfect interpretation of dominance; subtle dominance; he possesses the world around him only with the faint move of his smiling lips or the steady gaze that has the power to silent any protest; Will knows he is rather fortunate to hold this man's interest vivid and let him become his pillar. And the empath does want for Hannibal to be the paddles of the boat he is, when all the fuel is over and the waters of the ocean are furious and Poseidon holds grudges against him. But he doesn't know how to do it.

"I can't..." His voice is meek, but with a rebelious underlying tone that shows Will's incapacity to adecvately form words in order to show his feelings. "I never had friends to care enough for me and I simply don't know how to let you do this..." The letters are now assisted by the burning shame and a brush of a cerise blush upon his cheeks. Hannibal doesn't reply and his eyes rise to at least see the other's expression; he whishes secretly for Hannibal to understand him and not be utterly disappointed by him. But when the maroon crystals of the doctor unwrap afront him, he is more than taken aback to find there fondness and a sparkle that he can't absolutely attribute to a feeling. He registers a smile that is propted against Hannibal's mouth as well and he wonders how much, in fact, can someone care for him. Because what is revealed into the psychiatrist's hues is immense care and tenderness, a urge to protect and offer affection.

"Will..." The sounds are coated in amusement and the doctor makes an effort to not inhibate or cause more timidness to the empath with a chuckle. He can't help the warmth that fills the cavity of his chest nor the new feeling that blossoms there with delicate branches and promises of rich, perfumed flowers to decorate his empty soul. He extends a hand, in the meantime the blue crystals retiring from his visual area, and with a lenient, tender caress he brushes a few soft strands fondling and easing away all the lines that adorned the other's forehead.

"Will, your lone mission is to give me permission to stand by your side."

 

 

_21st May_

 

 

"What kind of ring would you buy for a woman?"

"What?" Hannibal's head tilts with superhuman speed, crystals transfixed by the pang of panic that attacks his heart. _Ring?_ he questions himself quietly, hearing clearly the loud thump of his heart against his constricting chest. The doctor takes a moment to steady himself, grab all the composure that hasn't been shattered by the empath's question and wishes for his sight to escape from the blur that made it prisoner. An intake of air caresses his trachea, down in his lungs, the perfumed air of spring carrying unknown fragrances and aromas that, for now, settle down Hannibal's pulse. He studies the face of the other man, trying to carve into his memory for the hundredth time all the contours of the elegant visage; he learns again about the statuesque arch of Will's forehead, that is always adorned with soft lines that indicate deep thought and reflection; he studies assiduously the mellow, alluring softness of his lips, wishing to press upon them his soul in feverish kisses, to be devorated completely by the humid cave that hides beneath their richness; he scrupulously analyses the nuance of the empath's irises, that separate in waves of teal only to engulf after that your stare and attention under the tender, calm waters of the Pacific that sparkle coldly in vigurous hues of blue.

"Well..." The word that is launched through munching moves startles Hannibal and he only acts to drink from his coffee, his stomach flipped around in his abdomen. "You have nice tastes, Hannibal. Help me find a ring." The letters that form the word 'ring' resonate against his skull with a throbbing, pulsating pain and around him the colours fade away in a whirpool of sounds and grey hues. _No..._ , is the faint whisper that rises in his thoughts as Will continues to eat the food Hannibal himself made; drinks the coffee that he brew. A pained smile contours the doctor's lips as his burdgundy crystals retire under the generous shadow that the tree under which their bench is provides. He lets the spring breeze ease away all the eventual grimaces that could decorate his expression. A cerise petal lands on his knee and he makes a gesture to remove it, but he notices that his fingers tremble; instincually, his teeth dig into his lip as his mind is filled with the picture of his hand trembling; of his surgeon hand trembling like the emerald green leaves shiver in the indecent touch of the wind. His stare falls on his forth digit and he erases the resigned grin upon his lips, then closes his fists, directing a quick glance to his watch. He doesn't touch Will, even if he yearns for it. His trembling hands are both now clutching onto themselves, fists closed and, as he stands, he lets the trace of a friendly smile brush against his expression.

"I apologise; can we talk later? I remembered I do have an appointment in five minutes."

"But the coffee?..."

"Oh, have it. I made it for you."

"Call me later, then!"

His steps lead him to his car, in a hurried pace, the rhythm of his heart matching their speed. His ears detect the last words of the empath and he turns rapidly, the first thought crossing his mind being to return to the protective shadow of the peach tree and actually kiss Will. He wants to kiss him. Not something soft and sweet; violent, desperate. Because he feels his words would fail, for the first time in his life, in helping him to make his feelings known. But his conscience wins, his kind and good self holds the throphy; he waves back to the man with a smile and a nod, then he retires in his car, thoughts clogged by pain and eyes unable to see other direction than the road to Bedelia's house.

He only wants to let her know she was right. As always.

 

 

_11th March_

 

 

Hannibal is very aware of the way his friend's lips curl up in insiduous smiles that provoke him to speak about the subject he had avoided since the start of their meeting - Molly's introduction that happened a day before. He repeteadly proclaimed Bedelia has a rich imagination for her to form such delusional opinions on him and his preferences; that she might be the one affected by the virus she herself named 'jealousy'; that he was not one to give in easily to such trivial temptations - at which she reminded about the Christmas.

"Everything that I say revolves in your head, in the end, around what happened on Christmas. I did well to not confide myself in you until later. If I would have told you in the same day, I can't imagine what you would have provoked, only for the sake of your sick amusement." He has to take in a breath of air, which he does imperceptibly, not wanting to let the woman believe his composure has been shattered by her malicious grins and mischevious commentaries.

"It's simple, dear; I would have played the role of Cupidon." The words are wrapped in a tone that lets her satisfaction become almost palpable; she does enjoy seeing the coldhearted, immune to feelings Hannibal Lecter losing his temper over a pair of blue eyes and a Southern accent.

"You are vile and I hope no one will befriend you ever again..." Hannibal's mind has not been as tidier as ever lately, he has to admit; but he can't admit Bedelia's theory without some fight.

"Hannibal...," she voices out, this time the green crystals staring with patience and some sort of affection glistening deep within them. "You know you are, if not the most importat person in my life, very dear to me; will you be careful in managing this problem?" The soft nod that is delivered as a reply from the man pleases her so she composedly smiles, a shadow of worry dancing for a second upon her features. But the collected attiude is brought up again and as she flips a page from her agenda, Hannibal stands and swiftly arranges his suit, careful to not present any wrinkles.

"My appointment is almost over. And I need to meet Will soon." The doctor is fully aware what kind of reaction would this stir in his friend; but his expectations are deceived as the female's face is not decked with any gracious smile nor does she wear amusement in her gaze. She is simply encouraging. As Bedelia hugs him lightly and desires all the best for the rest of the day, he thinks that his vile friend might not be as vile as he portrayed her.

"And let me know earlier when the events from the Christmas repeat." He can hear distinctly a payful chuckle that is both teasing and secretive. His lungs evacuate a sigh and as a small, amused smile is dancing on his lips, he corrects his last thought; she is even more vile than he portrayed her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dearie readers~ * snuggles you all *
> 
> Well, hmm... I am very very grateful for all your kudos and readings and woah, even subscribers. You are so sweet I've got diabetes~ <3 
> 
> These said, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I'll see you next time. Kudos and comments are gorgeous, so don't hold back. <3 <3 <3


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will has small resistance against alcohol and panick attacks, it seems.

_24th December_

 

 

The soft light of the fireplace threw their veils of shadow upon the doctor's face as his eyes calmly moved from side to side, gaze propted against the neat lines of a book. A yawn parted his lips and he covered it with a hand, while pressing the two hard covers of the book together, closing it and placing it aside for the moment, to revel into the quiet silence of the winter and the velvety caress of solitude. The furious wind knocked gently at his window with a long whistle that sent short shivers march along the doctor's shoulders and at the back of his neck, raising the precisely cut hairs from there. When he prepared to pour another portion of vermouth for him, a sound made his fingers freeze upon the neck of the bottle and his stare drifted to the door of the room. A calm expression of curiosity adorned his features as he placed the bottle on the silver tray and stood to verify who could be at this hour at the door; on top of all, on a stormy night of Christmas Eve. When the door was opened, the smiling face of a man saluted him and his eyebrows arched neatly above his eyes, in the same time his lips copying the ascending move, a smile tugging now at their corners.

"Will. What brings you here?" He helped the empath get out of his coat, leaning into the well-tailored frame of the other as the fragrance of winter and pine inundated his olfactory senses. He hummed gently, in a low tone as he listened to Will's words and offered a warm grin.

"I was feeling lonely and I hoped you do as well."

"Not particularly, but your company delights me, no matter the time." He can see the suave game of lights that plays upon the other's crystals and as he conversates with the man, he leads him to his library, offering the place in the armchair next to his.

"Is it cold outside?" he questions idly, noticing how Will brushed his palms together on order to warm them up. He places more timber in the devouring, hungry fire that is nestled in the fireplace and returns to his former place with an unused glass in his hand.

"Kind of. The wind is the one that makes everything worse," the empath replies, glad that the heat of the room is so comfortable and the presence of the doctor is visibly making him calm. The blue eyed man stared for some good moments at his host and let his gaze slide down and up, to the right and to the left, above all the contours and beautiful lines Hannibal was endowed with. Before the doctor can return to his place, the empath hushes in his mind encouragements, trying to ignore the discreet warmth that burns deviously in his low belly at the proximity to the other. Hannibal is delicious and rich, refined and it inflames in Will dangerous sensations and desires; for the simple self he is, Hannibal is a complex puzzle that incites him to challenges and forms on his features frowns of concentration and voluptuous smiles.

"Will?" the voice startles the man and, as he registers who the possessor of the familiar, pleasing tone is, he moves his cystals to gently rest upon the burgundy ones of the host. "Would you prefer something else apart from vermouth?"

"Vermouth is fine, doctor." Why is he here? "I put all my sincere trust in your tastes." Why did he come here? Why did he drive here in the middle of the night? Why?... Will is too afraid to accept the answer that his heart is whispering into his ear, in a tranquil tone that announces him that the beating organ does not belong to him anymore. He needs to refuse the explanations offered by his heart. But, in the same time, the questions persists in front of his eyes, hunts him even in his nightmares. Why is he so taken with the doctor?...

The lack of attention from his visitor doesn't go unnoticed by the vigilent doctor, indeed; he wonders quietly in a corner of his mind what could occupy the vast and interesting mind of the empath. When he offfers to Will the glass, the man is woken up from his reverie, brought up into the reailty again and, slowly, his eyes come to life again, the waves of their blue bouncing around the black pupil.

"Thank you," is the muttered retort of the teacher, answer which causes the doctor to inquire further about the object of Will's interest.

"You seem tired," he tries, burgundy eyes penetrating and sharp in their explore through the seas of the other's crystals. "Do nightmares disturb your sleep again?" A quiet shake of his head and a gulp are the first to motion the reply of the empath and his gaze becomes even more curious and seeking.

"No, the meds are making their job and thanks to your rules I feel that even my anxiety has subsided."

"I am glad..." A mumble to mark his displeasure, not his grateful feelings; unresolved problems regarding Will annoyed him. What was so important in his mind as to patronate his thoughts and Will to ignore his presence? Presence that - to be sincere - always inspired a feeling in his visitor; either courage or amusement, annoyance or pleasant coziness; Hannibal represented always a central piece for Will when they were found in the same room.

"The vermouth is very good," Will compliments, placing the empty glass on the tray; rapidly, the hand of the host comes to refill it with the maroon drink that then coates Will's palate and throat. The process repeats a few times, every time Hannibal pointing the moment of the refill with a studious glare that has the mission to reveal him the meanings of the empath's behaviour.

In the silence of the room only the susurrations of the burnt wood are heard and Hannibal turns his head again to his friend, to inspect his state. He is still unsure of the thought or idea that animated Will's motions for the whole time, but he leaves that curiosity of his to be resolved later. Will's eyes are partly lidded and he seems to be lost deep in the fog of his own mind; he has the perfect opportunity to study further the beauty of the man. A feeling of tingle dances upon his fingers, who yearn to touch Will. And, before he can start to assess the features of the empath, the man in cause moves his head and stares openly into his eyes. Quite startled by the sudden move, he doesn't have the time to retire his gaze before the waters to grab him tightly and drag him to their depths. An amused smile is displayed on Will's lips and his whole stance is relaxed and nonchalant, staring back at him with defiance and having rooted in the heart of his crystals something that is unreadable, but powerful. Hannibal feels it along his spine, down into his tailbone where that glance incites an explosion of shivers that prompt the doctor to straighten his back, under the malicious influence of a tremble.

Will is seductive. All he emanates is a tempting, inviting charm that kind of has the desired effect on the doctor. Hannibal's breath is deep and his senses are guarded, while his whole appearance is cautious.

"Your accent...," Will starts with a murmur that excites from Hannibal a physical, normal reaction of leaning closer to him, propting his elbow on the armrest of the armchair. "Is funny." A soulful, vibrant laugh shakes the empath's chest and animates all of his features in a wide, amused smile. Hannibal finds himself smiling, gently and affectionately, feeling his heart all mushy, melting, warmth coating his body. _How endearing_ , he thinks with a tint of worry. He had no idea the empath could have such a low resistance against alcohol. But the plans that start to picture in his mind are more than welcomed; he will have the chance to tend to a drunk Will and obligate him to stay the night in his house.

"Do you find so?" he plays along in a sweet tone, adoration filling his maroon crystals and making them sparkle actively. His lips part to let the next thought take the corporality of the words, but Will stands, woobly and makes the necessary steps to close the distance between them. The doctor leaves his glass in a rush upon the tray, but he is unable to take any other action as the blue eyed man straddles him. His eyebrows arch in a soft, unspoken inquiry as Will propts his palms on the armchair back, wearing a serious, unreadable expression.

"Will?"

"I am drunk and I want you so you better..." The last words are some muffled moans as the doctor's lips accaparate and conquer the ones of the empath, in a hungry waltz that rises the termperature of the room. Their moves are hurried as their hands remove clothes, caress, stroke, share intimate touches; their heart beats mirror the rushed pace of their limbs and lips as they kiss feverishly, without a stopping moment apart from indulging each other the necessary air for surviving. Hannibal descends slowly, patiently with a trail of kisses down Will's neck and the empath does a surprising, sudden gesture of hugging the older man, cradling his face into the warm crook on his neck. He inhales, deeply, trying to calm the ardent rhythm of their moves and whispers long and sensual into the other's ear.

"Slow... I desire you as much, but..." The doctor rises his face, reassuringly pecking the lips of his friend and as his lips blossom in a smile he encircles the other's waist with his arms. Their eyes meet in silent reverence and Will indulges a simple grin at the doctor's careful, chaste presses of lips against his cheeks that leave behind them traces of blush. Hannibal's thoughts spiral around the sensation of his skin touching the one of the emptah and he is not stil willing to liberate the man from the cage that his limbs create for him. It is sating all his needs and all his senses; the closure, the intimate air of the situation, when their breaths mingle together, tango on their lips until their petals brush suavely, voluptuously against each other and incite from both of them huffed sounds of pleasure.

The air vibrates around them and the fire embraces in light and shadows the back of the empath that arches sensually as Hannibal is patrolling, galloping on his neck skin with ardent kisses and bites, leaving spots and shivers in their disappearance. They hold each other close, not being able to decipher the meaning of this urge to merge into the other, to create a completely new being, together, with the menacing whistles of the winter wind accompanying their ragged breaths and their venereal moans. For a second, their stares meet; and the time stops and they are left to live into a frozen eternity, with their limbs tangled around each other and bodies aching with hungry passion and lust. They all the night to revel into the calm of their own eternity so they take it slow, with timid touches and loving whispers deposited against heated skins; with daring strokes that descend and go up on their bodies, trigerring soulful moans and chesty groans of delight; with possessive words promised in raucous tones and long thursts and dedicated kisses; they have all night to consume in their beautiful, dream like eternity.

 

 

  
_25th December - 8:09 AM_

 

 

The light that is filtrated through the apartment's windows wakes up Beverly with some profanities resting on her tongue that regarded both the light and the 'worm whole' she lived in. She rose slowly from the bed and walked to the kitchen, eyes closed and mind still clogged with sleepiness. She started to prepare her coffee out of habit, not even glancing at the recipients that passed through her hands. A hum escaped the woman's lips as he glanced aside at the view that her kitchen window allowed.

"Snow... Gorgeous," she mumbled with an upset fervor of lips, a shiver strolling along her body and making a tremble move all her muscles, finally retiring her from the cozy embrace of the sleepiness. Her large pajamas lounge on her trained body as she moves through the small kitchen, reviewing in mind the plans for that day. She brushes a palm over her face and hides a yawn, when a powerful knock fully opens her eyes. A cautious expression decks her features as she moves to the door and, opening it, she offeres an incredulous smile.

"What are you doing here?" Will enters the apartment with big steps, seeming like he fears for his limbs to not sustain him anymore. The expression of the man wears the somber colours of anxiety combined with alternative waves of fear and worry; his crystals are fade and his mouth is an undefined line upon his face, touched by a bitter frown. Beverly almost stops her colleague to demand a coherent explanation of his appearance and his entire aura that emanates negativity and sends to her pangs of desperation.

"Do you have coffee?" The agent murmurs a small hum as a reply and on her thin lips can be seen a knowing, domineering grin coming to life, with its sinuous curves that silently demands responses.

"What did you do?" The words nestle with a mute echo onto the walls, letting then silence coat the room with its cold tentacles, engulfing the two in its constricting embrace. The question, as harmless and amused as could seem to one, has a devastating, unexpected reaction for Will. He chokes a few words out through his shivering lips, but the detectve can't comprehend them as her colleague muscles tremble with their whole powers, hopeless against the coming anxiety that overtakes the empath's mind. The brunette's smile is erased in a second off her face as she grabs steadily, with care the man's hands into her own fingers, cradling the shaking digits into the crook of her warm palms. Will darts a glance that communicates the amount of panic that numbs his senses and conscience and Beverly can't stop the pained expression and the soft lines that express worry to deck her usually collected features.

"Will... Stop. Calm down. Hey, easy..." Her voice is firm, is solid against the black liquid that attempt to inundate him in its depths, that drowns his thoughts in a mushy substance and makes his vision blur; time is uncertain and the his rational self clings desperately on the meek, barely palpable presence of the woman.

"I slept with Hannibal." There is a distinct sound that propagates into the room and is the name of the psychiatrist that fights against Will's lips to be liberated in the air. The brunette takes in a breath, while Will gulps a few times down, holding onto the last wires of composure that he can find in his unstable mind at the right moment.

"Alright; let me get you some coffee." The voice of the woman is a kind, barely audible murmur, but it does have a beneficial effect on the empath as he repetitively moves his head in furious nods and notices that his dangerous trembling has subsided in a way. The woman leaves her place to pour the brown drink into two mugs that have different sizes and patterns imprinted on them, then brings her a chair in front of her colleague and quietly establishes herself in it.

"Better?" she inquires with an indulgent tone, somewhere between worry and the struggle to show affection. Will regards her with a glare that contains, in the same time, curiosity and fear, seeking both answers and help. He nods with the faintest move and comfortably sips from the warm, bitter coffee that, as soon as it lands in his stomach, controls its mind and brings back to him a tiny part from the strayed composure.

"I made a stupid mistake." The words that revolve now around Beverly's head extract from her a questioning hum that prompts the empath to continue, not before brushing a free palm over his tired face. "I slept with Hannibal, Bev. Haven't you heard me? I slept with him..."

"Will... If you want my opinion... I can't see the problem. Hannibal is a good catch; good-looking, wealthy..."

"He's a man!" The brunette's eyes open further and her stare is now sharp as the decisive, desperate words of her colleague still echo around the small room. She sips from her beverage, then leisurely glances at the empath, while abandoning her mug on the table.

"If you start with an existential crisis about how you are not gay, you will aggasate me and..."

"I am not! I don't... I can't take responsability for this. I can't... I'm _not_ _prepared_..." The agent observes how the panick attack installs slowly back into her friend's mind and she stop the man from his rambling before the anxiety to conquer his gaze back and declare victory over Will's thoughts.

"You know that I don't sugarcoat things, Will. The only problem I see here is you, in denial. If you feel attracted to Hannibal... Don't." Her hand rises to stop with a domineering gesture the eventual sounds that would interrupt her discourse. "Listen. If you feel attracted to him, then you are an idiot. I would have fucked him as well, sincerely. I don't even know him as well as you do; just what I noticed from when he worked in Jack's cases; but I saw how you talk about him. I also noticed, oh yes, don't give me that face... I noticed how he looks at you, how he talks to you. You are simply idiot if you don't admit that this wasn't a mistake." Her words stir a reaction in the empath; but not one desired by the woman. Will is not convinced; on the contrary, his crystals are fueled with flaming, fiery stubborness and fury.

"I am not in love with my friend, Beverly. It was a mistake and it will ruin our friendship and..."

"Tell me something," she cuts his words, rudely, but necessarily, she excuses herself. "Why are you here if you don't want my opinion? It seems like you already decided your fate."

"God dammit, Beverly!"

"Keep you voice down," she pronounces with a threatening voice, her crystals measuring with a studious, scrutinising gaze the man.

"You don't help me..."

"How about you help yourself and accept the fact that what you did is not a mistake. Alright; you are not gay. Maybe neither is Hannibal, who the fuck knows? But will you let this episode take away from you your only real friend? For fuck's sake, Will, you impress me with your stupidity!" The letters grow in intensity and volume as they fill the woman's mouth and the end of her sentence is left out with a huff and a pitiful smirk that graces her lips. However, the meaning of the words seems to clearly, visibly settle in the empath's mind as his eyes stare with a frown shadowing them at the mug that is lost in his tight grip.

"I have to go..." The mumble coaxed surprise on the brunette's asian features and, as Will stands, she pursues further the man to give her details about his early departure.

"Where are you going?"

"Sleep?"

"What about Hannibal?"

"I need to think, Bev... Thanks for the coffee."

"..." The door closes with an inaudible click and the agent's eyes drift down to her hand that holds Will's mug. "You're welcome," she mutters under the pressure of a sigh as she heads back to the kitchen with a light change in her mood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ow, hello, my dear beauties~   
> Another chapter, hm? The story starts to gain some contour but it's yet a long road to go.   
> I want to thank to anyone who was this kind as to subscribe and leave kudos for me and send you a big hug~ <3   
> I hope you enjoyed your read and, again, don't be shy and leave me kudos or tell me what you think about these two babies~ <3


	4. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some secrets must remain hidden in the dark corners of their minds.

 

 

_25th December - 08: 09 PM_

 

 

The maroon crystals hovered upon the murmuring crowd of people, distant sounds of a cello also distracting his fine hearing and eliciting a discreet, subtle sigh from his chest that felt void of any joy, despite his house being packed with people whose company he normally enjoyed. His sight stuck for a few seconds upon the beautiful, elegant pair that Jack and Bella Crawford made and then travelled further, to rest on the exquisite contours of a kindly smiling woman he recognised as his dearest apprentice, dr. Alana Bloom. He admired silently the simplicity of her attire and nobility, instinctual elevation of her gestures. Soon, she took note of the persistent gaze and offered a calm, close-lipped smile which received a mirrored response from the man. Then his sight wandered around the room as the song finished and an aria from _Goldberg's Variations_ by Bach inundated the room with its grave and suggestive notes.

"You look deprimated and you imperiously need sleep, I must say." The voice was more than familiar for the doctor and the gesture that assisted it held something of a small encouragement in it. Bedelia closed the distance between them with a short hug, in her abitual manner and then stared at the man with a scrutinising, tenderly inquisitive gaze that was rapidly remarked by her friend.

"Right now I would appreciate if your presence is not meant to question me and you ignore my overall mood. Don't you think the party is charming?" The woman senses the tired, sore note from Hannibal's voice that the psychiatrist himself tries to hide under his usual collected demeanour. The years spent next to such a secretive and private person Hannibal is, taught Bedelia how to pick even the smallest details and detect the faintest changes.

"Charming, indeed; all I know is that you fully and completely are informed about my curiosity and determination. Will you tell me now what happened with you?" The patience the blonde's eyes emanates slightly melts the doctor's coldness and pushes down the impenetrable walls that he had built around him.

"I will talk about this, but not now." He doesn't need to voice the following 'please' because the woman perceives it easily from his calm, silent glare.

"Very well." The 'thank you' is also communicated through a short glance before the woman retires to entertain Alana with a conversation. Hannibal takes a moment to surveille the interaction and lets his lips mutter a meek, dear smile at the discovery of Bedelia's interest in Alana's person. _Good luck with that_ , he wishes silently in his mind, wondering if his capable friend will be actually able to enjoy Alana's attention for a prolongued time and, why not, take her on a date. He remembers about a long forgotten discussion with his friend about the brunette and the admission that he extracted from the blonde about her considering Alana a potential romantic interest.

Suddenly the crystals that were filled with burgundy flickers at the darling memory are drained of any glisten and Hannibal can sense the bitter taste that coates his palate again. The gently pulsating pain from his chest is back to remind him of that morning when, instead of waking up the the peacefully sleeping face of a man, he was saluted by his cold, empty bed and the silence that came as a cruel sentence for him. It resulted that he was only some sort of relief, a useful pair of lips and heated body to help Will with his desires. And it stung more than he wanted to admit...

 

 

_21st May_

 

 

The small bag of tea is drown in the hot water, its coloured tentacles spreading into it, poisoning the calm surface of the liquid with a subtle smell of chamomile and the distinct hue of a pale yellow. The blonde took the both elegant cups into her hands and crossed the short hallway, her steps echoing upon the wodden floor with vibrant clicks. Her moves are measured as she places the tea on the coffee table and settles herself down in her chair, a gaze escorting her motions; a gaze that is both curious, inquiring and shadowed by worry.

"He is looking for a ring..." The voice of the psychiatrist lacks the usual confident nature, it misses the dominnering palpitations that his letters are usually covered with. His stare is hid by his lids and the shadow of a frown as his fingers are clasped together, in a tight hold that paints his knuckles with white. Bedelia's eyebrows arch into an expression marked by both pain and desire; she wants to ease away all the crevices that formed onto her friend's face and clean from his brilliant mind all the dark clouds that scare away his usual composure and aplomb.

"Hannibal..."

"No." The hushed word is pushed out of the psychiatrist chest with a soft, imperceptible groan and a gaze that lost all its colour and life, that emanates only the hollow that the doctor feels himself creating in the very middle of his body. He feels open, seemingly in an authopsy, open to the blonde woman that scrupulously examines his heart which is still meekly keeping its rhtythm, stubbornly.

"Whatever you decide, Hannibal... I support you." The man finds in the unmoving crystals of his psychiatrist a sea of understanding and he is truthfully glad for the sincere aid of the blonde.

"I will continue."

 

 

_05th April_

 

 

The spring sun wrapped the whole place in a mantal formed of light and pleasuring, delightling warmth, Hannibal letting his gaze fondle the line of the horizon where the trees of the wood started to dress up in nuances of green, pale and vigorous hues decorating their branches. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips and he silenced it by taking a sip from the mug that has been resided in his hand for a while now. The doctor's palate was soon inundated by the bitter, alluring aromas of the coffee and, with a sigh, he continued to watch the morning sun rising the veils of shadow and night that were settled up the bright-looking Sunday.

"Doctor!" A cheerful voice moved the psychiatrist's head to the right, from where the lanky, slim figure of a boy approached, rays of sun draped along his long limbs and his yet to grow torso. A reserved smile graced the man's lips but did not reach his crystals that were enraptured by a pierce, dark glisten.

"Good morning, Willy. How was your sleep?" The boy offered an appreciative smile, eyes wide with excitement and brimming with fascination toward the psychiatrist. Hannibal measured the dear, heartwarming picture of the teen and replied with a cold grin, not even a sign of emotion caressing his features as he did so. That was Willy; Willy Hooper. The darling and over-joyful son of Molly Hooper. From the teen's posture the doctor could notice that he tried to imitate him, to resemble in stance and gestures the psychiatrist, detail which, instead of bringing up to the mentor's eyes warmth, sharpened further the fiery gaze.

"Very well, sir! What about you?"

"Peaceful, thank you." A lie; the night has been tormenting and pestered by pangs of pain that enveloped his chest and that he tried with all his might to ignore. The mentioned try was a difficult mission since he could openly hear the mumbles and the muffled chuckles of the couple, Will and Molly, since their rooms were separated only by a seemingly thick wall. For Hannibal it felt like he shared the bed with the two, as a silent visitor, watching with scrutinising stares the interaction between the man and the woman. He bit his lips when low moans were elicited out of that tasteless woman's chest and held himself in the darkness of the room when the susurrating groans of the empath filled his ears; the known, familiar huffs of guilty pleasure he had time to fully analyse and memorise one winter night, next to the lowly burning fire from his library. The night when the only blanket they used was the coats of perspiration and the only means they communicated through were their gazes, full of intensity and desire and want.

"Doctor?" A discreet jump is sensed into Hannibal's shoulders as Willy smiles right in front of him, with an untold plead and worry written all over his crystals.

"Willy, is there something you want to ask?" He is patient; as patient as one can be with the child of the woman that Will dates.

"Actually..." The words of the teen are captured by timidness as his gaze levels down and is covered in uncertainty. "No, no questions, doctor, but..."

"But?"

"Will doesn't love mom." The sounds float between them, under the fondle of the morning sun before to arrive to Hannibal and reveal their meanings to his perspicacious mind.

"Willy?"

"Doctor...," there's a huff and when Willy rises his gaze the maturity that Hannibal can see there takes him aback; the teen's mind and soul are not childish, oh no. "I know mom. And I know she is a beautiful, kind woman and she has a strange weakness for helpless individuals, but... Will truly doesn't love her. I have seen men that stared at their cars with more love than Will has when he looks at mom. She's blind, of course, but..."

"Enough." This time, Hannibal's voice is a quiet sound of reassurance as his hand moves and his long, elegant digits rest against the softly curly hair of the boy; and when the doctor smiles this time, the light of the grin reaches his gaze and within his crystals blossom glistens of hope and approval. "I know...," he whispers, silently, letting his stare drift again upon the line of the horizon and the immense ball of fire that now took its place on the morning sky from Wolf Trap. _I know..._

 

 

_09th June_

 

 

The doctor stands from his habitual place with a collected smile imprinted on his features, the aura of it enveloping only his lips, though, his eyes tired and moves short; his phrases are professional; his gaze is distracted by the walls during his therapy sessions with his patients. He keeps everything under the composed appearance and attentive administration of his rational self, but he is unable to deny the way his mind is distracted or his thoughts are consumed by other matters while his patients talk and talk and stare at him and demand answers. He wishes he could be in the seat of the patient and ask the same questions as they do; what is the next step?

For the meanwhile, he decides that the next questionless action he has to do is to escort the woman that stands in front of him and let her know when their next appointment would be scheduled. And he does it, with the same cold professionalism, opening the door, offering a polite smile, sharing farewells. Then on his crystals is reflected the face of a man and his whole appearance changes; all the contours of his face mold into an unreadale expression, the walls are rose to infinite heights, his eyes stop their faint glisten and his lips mutter a smile that emanates no sensation at all.

"Well, well, I do not remember for you to have an appointment." His voice imitates a tone that is filled with gentleness, despite his features being void of any trace of joy that the presence of the empath could bring. In all honesty, the psychiatrist would feel better if some distance would be installed between him and the blue eyed man that currently walks into his office.

"I didn't know I have to make an appointment to see you." The doctor quietly observes the man, from reserved, reticent distance, humming meekly in his mind as he closes the door with a slow movement that allows him a moment of peaceful thinking. Will looks good; he seems lively, not tired anymore; he is daring, confident; bold, dare he say. _Mhm...,_ he hushes again to his thoughts to calm them and establish order before to turn back. He needs a second to recollect himself, before the storm that the empath inflames within him can start its raging vortex and devour all his last bits of dignity and composure.

"What brings you here, then?" He questions in a quiet manner, approachng his friend and inviting him to occupy a seat in front of his desk. Soft lines that adorn the empath's placid expression whisper to Hannibal about the insecurity of the other's gestures as he shifts in the generous embrace of the chair. The blue hues are overpowered by a diffuse veil of shadow and when the gaze pierces him, the doctor almost closes the distance between the man and him and hugs Will, reassurant and protective. Into the very heart of those light teal crystals he can read, without any oppression from the possessor, worry and desperation; Will seems lost, looks at the psychiatrist with the vivid, true hope of a prisoner witnessing the opening of the gates for him to escape; he stares upon the burgundy infinity that the cupole of Hannibal's irises deliver and he seems a long forgotten traveller through space and time, searching with the last bit of faith palpitating into his tired heart after the magical star that would lead him back home.

There is an extending silence enveloping the whole office as the magnetic gaze of the empath conquers Hannibal's attention and his whole mind; then he makes the softest gesture, the most imperceptible move and covers with his long digits the tanned fingers of the man, that rest intertwined together on the desk surface.

"You look lost." Will doesn't have the power to reply, but instead gives into the warm temptation that rises from his low belly and the doctor sees the next move of the empath coming. Will is truly lost..., are the last words his mind mutter in the muted silence of the room as Will leaves his chair and presses his lips against Hannibal's with despairing wishes being cradled between their heated, franctic moves; swayed by the feverish touches of their petals, travelling between interrupted and muffled moans, coating palates and anchoring in their mind with loud thumps, rooting in the fertile earth of their souls.

Will leans closer and closer, until he can feel strong arms snaking around him in a cage, in a chain that is impossible to escape from; he's a slave... A slave to this mania, to this ill desires and impulses. He is practically a married man and yet here he is, biting Hannibal's lips hungrily while groaning intimately into his sweet mouth, letting smiles dance upon his petals and his eyes analyse closely, studiously the dear contours of the other's face.

"Will..." vibrates on the psychiatrist lips and it triggers something in the empath. The blue eyed man whimpers faintly, then abruptly breaks the contact, pushing himself out of the doctor's embrace, covering his mouth with a shivering hand. As Hannibal stares at his friend, a bitter taste is sensed on his tongue, all over his lips and his crytals are dark, intense, loving. His petals feel like molding after the short name of the empath again; but no sound is left to evade from his throat; he makes a calm gesture, extending a hand and trying to comfort the other, to drag him back at the protective, warm haven of his arms, to let his weight spread again upon his chest and refuse him ever leave that place. But the man jerks his body, further distancing himself from the doctor, a tremble playing around all his muscles; a short, scared glance is directed toward the psychiatrist, then the empath hushes in a raucous voice some words to mark his departure.

"I have to go..."

Hannibal's arm falls to rest against his side again, while his eyes drop their burning gaze upon the floor of the room, that is suddenly too cold and too big, enormous in comparison with him, that is a meek, diluted figure, a prey to the merciless, ruthless attacks of guilt, want and resignation. And Will is not the only one lost this time...

 

 

_03rd January_

 

 

With his coat draped upon his flexed arm, the psychiatrist followed with undivided interest the movements of the teacher, ingoring this time all the precious information that departed from the man's lips and the big, panoramic view of a corpse. His thoughts circle around a thought like a hungry condor, keeping under attentive surveillance the idea; in the end, he is the one to step over the line again. He is the one to appear in front of the other, despite Will being the one that stomped hurtfully on his dignity and feelings. Lonely nights with only expensive bottles of spirits as companions, though, are not of his choice; he would prefer the man that trampled on his devoted heart, than the absence of him. As the light starts to reveal the unclear contours of the people, Hannibal steps closer to his friend, observing that Will hasn't noticed his presence yet.

"Good morning, Will." The empath is taken aback, almost frightened by the voice that seems so close to him and he doesn't have the time to check on his expression; the doctor can clearly see for a fraction of second the pale colours of shock that paint the other's face and he can read into the blue eyes the cocktail of emotions his words reveal into the other. A discreet smile tugs at his lips, certain that this is not only his imagination and he in reality sees the delicate bouquet of glisters that blossom into the other's gaze as their stares meet.

"'Morning...," is the lone mumbled reply of the empath as he hides his expressive eyes out of the doctor's stare reach.

"I hope I am not bothering." Hannibal's voice is patient and doesn't betray a single feeling of grudge, of desolation or lack of control. Will shakes his head, in the same quiet manner and the psychiatrist can see all the questions that inundate the beautiful mind of the man. He enjoys for a moment this feeling, of tormenting Will, but then he ends the ordeal of the man.

"Will. My hopes are that we can discuss over like two mature adults about what happened on Christmas Eve." His words do stir something in the empath as he abandons his papers on the desk and slowly, with tired motions, he turns to face the doctor, not meeting his gaze, in any case.

"It's my fault. I... Lost it. Sorry for making you..." Will's throat constricts around the words and the doctor stops the pathetic attempts of the empath to excuse himself; there was nothing to apologise in here.

"I understand. It meant nothing and I hope we can continue being friends." His sight offers to Will calm and peace and Hannibal can see the soft, discreet annoyance that decorated the other's face. _Isn't he pleased?_ he questions himself, not being able to see the disappointed glance that is thrown in his direction. The faintest smile curves upon the empath's petals and he murmurs, nodding without power or pleasure:

"It was nothing, yes..."

But both would discover that it meant more than their minds could currently project.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time, no see. 
> 
> It was time for me to bring this chapter. Long story short, I'm a masochist if I truly like to make myself suffer with this kind of plots. 
> 
> Enjoy your reading, beauties and thank you for your kudos~ <3


	5. V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bedelia is not the only person who loves to be right, seemingly.

 

 

_02nd June_

 

  
The maroon irises fix on the two silhouettes that ocuppy the space of the livingroom couch in Will's house, a polite, reserved smile painted harshly on his features. Winston comes to nuzzle his heaad into his knee, delivering a scrutinising gaze that prompts the doctor think animals have truly sensitive characters, in spite of their race; in fact, their intuition goes beyond the powers of perception of some examplaries of the human species. And as his mind wraps around this idea, his gaze drifts from the simple, supportive crystals of the dog to ones that resemble two dead seas, void of any trace of life.

"Made yourself comfortable, doc?" The voice of the woman is loud against his temples, provoking a subtle aching pain, pulsating gently against his skull as he nods with a charming grin decorating his plump lips.

"Indeed I am, Molly. What is the big announcement you prepared for me?" So false; he already knows the reason; it is impossible to not know when the idea wandered through the big, generous rooms of his mind palace the last months. It is impossible to not express the deep, immense pain that he feels excruciatingly constricting his chest; it's impossible to refrain a sigh before to hear the words; it is truly impossible to deny how his heart seems to crash under the pressure of his ribs; it is impossible to ignore the longing flicker, the lone, isolated light from Will's eyes as Molly speaks; the last attempt of the empath to show him that it's over.

"Me and Will are getting married! Isn't it simply gorgeous? Will, tell him."

"Me and Molly would want for you to be my bestman..."

"It would be my pleasure. Congratulations!"

_It is truly over_ , his numb mind hushes in the cold silence of his mind palace, where no violin can animate anymore the place; these are the words that shut close all the windows and doors of his mind when he hugs Will, arms stroking imperceptibly, muscles trembling; these are the words that resonate in his head after he leaves Wolf Trap.

Also, these are the words that drum against his skull with new heights and new echoes everytime as he stops his car in the middle of the road and muffles his face in his palms. The air is hot and useless for his lungs that are hungry and cry desperately for oxygen. He opens the door of the car and inhales deeply, rapidly, chest moving franctically and thoughts caught in a frenzy motion.

"It's over..." his lips murmur again and again and again until they fall to a taciturn mumble and until he feels every fiber of his body shiver in the cold breeze of the sunset. He rubs with slow, shaky moves his big palms against his face, leaning without power against his Bentley, letting his eyes be nestled under the darkness of his lids and his arms fall to his sides, unable to do anything but hang unmoved. _It's over...,_ the words ring a last time in the glacial silence of his mind and he reveals the burgundy crystals caressed by warm tears to the setting sun, letting his stare witness the end of the day and the end of his love for his friend, Will Graham...

 

 

_09th July_

 

 

The elegant closet receives from the blonde woman a last worried glance before the doors to be closed inaudibly by her hands and, with a simple, sincere expression of displeasure, she turns to face her frend. Hannibal started to sort the things from his drawers, pondering about how many clothes would he need. Bedelia spots in a second the moderated motions of Hannibal's gestures and the quiet demeanour of the man, attributes which can't be named 'usual' for him.

"My opinion on your idea won't change, no matter if I offer my help or not." Her determined voice has an affectionately scolding nature and, as he folds neatly a tie, her lips part under the pressure of a sigh.

"I know you don't approve of this," the man replies, a few steps closing the distance between him and his psychiatrist. His big, steady hands wrap against the stubborn, delicate ones of the blond and the maroon crystals chase the green ones of the woman. "And I appreciate immensely your help. But I won't back down. Will made his choice and so am I. I sincerely need a break from everything. I am tired, Bedelia..." At the ring of the last sentence the fiery gaze of the woman is directed toward the man, menacing glistens showing the silent concern she carries in her crystals. Another sigh is forced out of her chest, to land on her plump lips and, with swift, gracious motions, she retires her fingers from the warm hug of Hannibal's ones and wraps her arms around the neck of the doctor. The hug is short, in her habitual manner and her collected expression is now draped over her features again; but Hannibal can feel the encouragement, the delicate care of the woman for his feelings and his fate and returns the gesture. When they part, on Hannibal's face is contoured with suple grace a comfortable grin and that gentle sign marks the moment when Bedelia decides that her friend would be fine.

"You take care of you, nevertheless. Florence is a fabulous place, so make the best out of this time, yes?" The unvariable reply of the doctor comes in the form of a nod and then the two continue their work of packing in cozy silence. Indeed, Bedelia is against Hannibal's gesture to leave a day before Will's wedding; but her instincts are still whispering to her something good will meet the path of her friend.

 

 

_10th July_

 

 

"What?" The word is choked out of Will's lungs with an unpleasant resonance, vibrations covering his letters as his crystals willingly meet the burning gaze of the man that possessed his mind from the moment he had known the secret of his smiles and of his sparkling stares. Against his ribcage he feels collonies of butterflies, flying in a dangerous, rushed whirpools of tiny wings that tickle his heart, make it defectuous in its beats; his pulse sends jolts of adrenaline in his vessels, inflaming rough, electrifying pinches against his spine.

"I love you..." The whisper floats around his mind, tangles in the wires of his lost composure then fall heavily with a loud sound, anchoring in the middle of his being, echoing threatingly. His forehead presses against the one of the psychiatrist and he closes his eyes, a long, deep, relieved sigh being extracted from his lungs.

"Yes," he murmurs against Hannibal's lips in delicate touches, his eyes sparkling vividly, exploding in feeries of colours, in his soul blossoming a sensation of absolute completeness. And he leans closer, closer and the kiss that he presses against Hannibal's sinful, vicious petals is chaste, trembling, weak in its moves, but hard in its pressure. He revels into the simple sensation of the other's delicious warmth so close to his own body and when he lets his crystals escape from under the dominance of his lids, he witnesses flames that rise into the burdgundy irises of the doctor.

"Say it again..." His whisper is a plead, is a beg and his eyes convert his feelings in subtle glisters that decorate his gaze in playful explosions of light.

"I love you. I love you, William Graham." Love; this is what he feels. Violent, raw, poweful; in his mind, in his heart, in every bone of his body courses love for this man. The next kiss they share is a passionate one, fervent, full of unspoken desires and promises, lingering with scronching heat and coolish shivers. His arms circle around Hannibal's neck, firmly, strongly, in an embrace that is taking the air out of the doctor's lungs.

"Again...," he hushes as he kisses at the sharp corner of the psychiatrist's lips, teasing, loving, down to his chin and leading with a path os kisses to the exquisite arch of his jaw.

"I love you...," the doctor repeats and repeats; and he repeats the words as their gazes meet and he murmurs them in his mind as they kiss again, insatiably, without any opression or resort of composure. He groans them into the empath's ear as they head with careful moves to the bed, he reverentiously mumbles them as he caresses with his lips Will's cheekbones and his lids, he writes them down on the man's skin as his bites leave red marks on the lightly tan flesh of the other.

And then Hannibal's stare rises and Will can see heaven into that embracing gaze of his; he can feel warmth and comfortable protection enveloping him so he drags the man closer to his chest, prompting the doctor to rest against him, to let himself a prisoner into the loose hug of his arms.

"I am sorry..." the empath's lips mutter as the psychiatrist presses faint, feathery kisses upon his neck, his head tugged under the chin of the blue eyed man. Hannibal gazes into the depth of Will's crystals and pecks with immense tenderness the sensual, delicious petals of the other, calm inquires expressing themselves through soft lines that decorate his expression.

"There is no reason to apologise, Will." The embrace around the doctor tightens as the man beneath him looks at him with adoration and lets the regret fill his irises, make them glisten intimately.

"I was so scared of this, of..." The empath's words are put to an abrupt end when the lips of the older man crash against his in an ardent kiss, that is meant to both reassure him and offer him the way of expressing his words through other means. He listens to the devious advice of the psychiatrist and lets a subtle moan of delight echo against Hannibal's teeth, gesture which incites in Hannibal lively flames that make his moves more dominant, rough, lustful.

They remember how the other's skin tastes while kissing necks and biting jaws and exercise their guilty moans muffled against heated skin. With a fugitive smile running on Hannibal's lips, the doctor starts to unbutton the shirt of the empath, teasing him with light kisses deposited against his chest, teasing him with his delicate breath dancing upon his stomach, with his teeth grazing against the surface of his low belly, arousing shivers in his tailbone that go up in the same rhythm with Hannibal's touches, enveloping his whole body in a coat made of electrifying pinches.

"You are teasing me..." His voice resembles a low growl, escorted by a mute moan as Hannibal crushes gently between his teeth the skin that protects his collar bones.

"I have a debt to pay," is the amused reply of the psychiatrist as on his lips florish into a smile against the other's chest that shakes under the influence of a chuckle.

"Devilish," Will voices while biting his lip and as his fingers rapidly remove the shirt from Hannibal's shoulders. The psychiatrist lets the man expose him, while he is occupied with reaching his ear, where he fondles the empath's earlobe with a few kisses, whispering in an alluring, lascivious tone against the pulse point of the other.

"You haven't seen anything yet." The moan that is elicited from Will surprises the doctor, but functionates as an aphrodisiac as well as he quickens the rhythm of his moves. Palms start to wander and travel down the exposed skin, fingers fumble with button and zippers, clothes land with inaudible thumps on the floor, while their naked bodies shiver weakly in the bright caress of the summer sun. Between heated, sensual kisses there are nudged groans and short chuckles, words that contour lips and settle on tongues with a taste of fresh honey, hushed demands that find their completeness in the moves of their fingers, of their limbs, hearts. Digits drown into all the hidden curves of their bodies and their lips run along all the sharp contours that define their features, with more passion and more fever, without restraint or logic; without names or past stories; just two men discovering each other between the blue sheets of a bed, under the dimming light of the sun. Just two strangers in a world that is suffocating, clogged with avid want, inundated by fierce feelings and emotions.

There is a long, breathy moan that evades from Will's lungs as Hannibal is advancing into him, patient, so hot and hard, sliping further into him, filling his insides with passion and pouring into him all he desires that had been hid in the doctor's mind only until then. They make love in the asphyxiating silence marked only by sweet sounds to expose their delight and sinful pleasure in all its nakedness. They make love locking gazes and holding hands, fingers holding desperately onto another; they make love slowly, with kisses stolen from quiverigng lips; they make love without fear and wihout thinking of tomorrow. In the end, when the air collides with their lungs in deep inhales and their bodies are tired and their lips unable to form any audible letters, they surrender to the sleep's enchants with loving smiles flourishing on their features.

When Hannibal's eyes flutter open, there is a strange sensation in his chest, of complete and perfect. There is a warm weight on his chest, spreading along his side and his right leg and as he opens his eyes, slowly, he discovers a muffled face into his naked chest. The breath of the other is calm and deep and he registers the summer sun that is already losing its arms under the horizon line. A sigh is forced out of his lungs, long and showing satisfaction, emanating warmth and bliss and comfort. He rests his cheek upon the soft, curly strands of the man and smils calmly, closing his eyes and reveling into the sensation of skin touching skin and the heat shared by them; finally, in his arms. And as his eyes are protocted by his lids and darkness conquers his crystals, he hears a meek, sleepy sussuration that opens finally all the doors and windows of his mind palace.

"I love you too, Hannibal Lecter..."

 

 

_Epilogue_

 

 

The month of September is almost over, days shorter and breeze colder, houses warmer and trees lonely as their loved leaves float through the air with gracious moves and excercised steps of ballet. The shadow that a tree provides for Hannibal's Bentley is marked by golden, shivering leaves and the light is orange and mushy, enveloping all the contours of the buildings in a protective mantal. The sun is retiring its sparkling arms under the line of the horizon, difusse and trembling as he leaves the darkness slowly install in the air with its mysterious fragrances and hidden secrets.

"Shouldn't have he arrived already?" The doctor's question is received by Will with a patient, adoring grin that angrenates all the features of the man in the action; a true smile.

"How dear of you to worry for him." The tone of the man is amused, with gentle underlying vibrations and escorted by a glistening glance that is short and provoking, inciting the psychiatrist into that game.

"Oh, I am not that carrying. Why would you believe so of me? I am an egoistic individual."

"I know..." Will leans closer and his lover mirrors his action, their lips meeting at the middle of the small distance that is put between them. Hannibal's hand moves and, with a tender gesture, his long fingers cradle the digits of the empath in a warm embrace that holds promises of protection and love.

"Oh, come on! Can't you make out somewhere else?" The slow, adoring kiss is disturbed by the voice of a boy and, as the men break the contact of their lips, the displeased face of Willy's appears in the rear window of the car.

"William!" The cold, authoritative voice of the doctor extracts two simultaneous answers and then a round of amused chuckles. Hannibal, though, directs a scolding gaze to the boy regarding his manners and, under the intentful stare of the doctor, Willy's expression changes to an apologetic one.

"So where's mom?" the teen asks with a joyful smile and a relieved stare as Hannibal turns his head and starts the engine of the car.

"She is with Dave," Will replies, liberating his lover's hand as Hannibal swiftly, capably draws out of the parking lot the car.

"Sweet. Hey, can I go to the new Marvel movie on Thursday?" On the boy's face an innocent smile blossoms, as a silent proof of his good intentions.

"Certainly not. You have school on Friday." The answer of the doctor elicites from the both Williams a stare of consternation and silent anger, but only the empath defies the words of the psychiatrist.

"You are cruel, you know this? And unfair. He always does his homework and he's smart, so he'll go. You'll go."

"No, you will definitely not go to movies during the week. He needs to learn responsability, Will."

"Oh, please... He is responsible."

"Not responsible enough if he even thinks I will allow such behaviour."

Willy indulges himself a barely audible laugh and a pleased smile as he makes himself comfortable in his seat. He knows the argument will end in a few kisses and a few subtle smiles that told of more intimate contacts later that night. The crystals of the teen drifted along the frames of the two men and a wide, adoring grin blossomed on his young features at the seeing of the two rings that vowed and told of a life together for the two men.

In the end, he was right about Will. But this couldn't bring anything but delight into his gaze as he moved his crystals upon the window of he car. He loves when he is right. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, darlings. 
> 
> This was the last chapter of the story. I hope you enjoyed and savoured it. I want to thank to all those who gave a reading or kudos to this story and say it meant a lot for me. 
> 
> I'll see you soon, because I will surely write more Hannigram from now on. ^^


End file.
